 | The lion's cub |  |
VI.
Why do I love you—if I do?Tell me that, and I'll tell you.
It is not that you are more fair
Than other ladies whom I know;
For the summer of your hair,
Or the lights that come and go
In your radiant, startled eyes,
Apprehensive of surprise;
Nothing in your bright, young face,
Which is comely, I suppose;
6
What it is, Heaven only knows.
I might not love you if I knew,
For what I love might not be you!
| The lion's cub | |